


Still I Rise

by undsy1525



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undsy1525/pseuds/undsy1525
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, and your favorites are back in class. Draco thought, quite satisfactorily, that they could all ruddy well sod off. A bunch of skirts and milksops. Who needs that kind of aggravation? Hermione was grieving, Ginny secretly so, and those boys were about to crumble in the wake of a shocking revelation. OOC - DH Compliant (if one ignores the epilogue) DM/HG, HP/GW</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prologue and Chapter One  
> Massive edit--sorry for any confusion.
> 
> "Let the beauteous and disastrous year begin."

 

You may write me down in history  
With your bitter, twisted lies,  
You may trod me in the very dirt  
But still, like dust, I'll rise...

Does my haughtiness offend you?  
Don't you take it awful hard  
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines  
Diggin' in my own back yard...

You may shoot me with your words,  
You may cut me with your eyes,  
You may kill me with your hatefulness,  
But still, like air, I'll rise...  
Maya Angelou Poet Extraordinaire

 

PART ONE  
Enmity and Sorrow

 

Prologue

The last battle is over.

Narcissa Malfoy is put under house arrest for her intermittent war crimes, but Lucius has worn out his welcome in the Wizengamot's eyes. With a stern sentence of life in Azkaban, he resigns himself to his fate.

A fresh year means second chances for everyone. New classes and teachers abound, and general academic chaos ensues.

Draco deals with oppression from his classmates, and residual guilt from his past of misdeeds and inaction. On top of all of this, the Wizengamot has decreed that he must suffer through bi-weekly counseling sessions with McGonagall. What utter torturous tripe.

Hermione is left in grief over her parents—her father has written her off for erasing their lives. Unwilling to confide to her best friends about her father's reaction, Hermione just tries to get by.

Even George is invited back to Hogwarts this year, and despite his stubborn reluctance to go, Molly and Arthur pack his bags and drop him off at the train station themselves.

I hereby cut the rope and beckon you all in. Let the beauteous and disastrous year begin.

 

Chapter One  
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my laptop and the clothes on my back.

 

Overall, there is hardly anything that makes Draco Malfoy anxious. But—as fate would have it, and let's face it, fate is never kind—he has had the misfortune of being subjected to these few but recurring smites much too frequently in the past couple of years. Of these, two remain obvious, and quite permanent, he thought. First and foremost, any persecution of his family's name or character is a formidable—and blind—button that is much better left un-pressed. As the reader no doubt is already aware, a certain trio from a particularly undignified House take great pleasure in riling him up in this way; for they have always been, and will forever remain convinced that the Malfoys are no better than a detestable coven of scamps, and treated him as such.

Such abuse is tolerable, but only scarcely so. As unseemly a prospect as the majority of the Wizarding world sharing this outlook on his family, it was, for an unfathomable reason to him, the opinion of these three blights that rankled the most. Anyone on the outside looking in could see in a moment that Draco was jealous of the three comrades, but it is understandable that he would never own up to that.

Yes, Potter had recently spoken on his family's behalf, but Draco put it down to the magnanimity that is so maddeningly common in the red and gold House, and ignored it completely. Seven years of open hostility has left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. How he had almost dreaded returning to Hogwarts!

As for the second, Draco has a profound weakness when faced with pain of any degree. Do not think too badly of him for this, because it is not wholly selfish. He cannot stand to see anyone in pain; the experience always immobilizes him, leaving him nauseated, and filled with guilt. How many times has he watched from the sidelines, powerless, frozen with fear and sickness of heart—as strangers, or worse yet, acquaintances, were tortured, maimed, killed... wasted... for a sick man's leisurely sport?

No one could be more disgusted with this stigma than Draco himself. He was convinced that he was a coward to the core, and he despised this weakness more than anything. In anyone else, this behavior would be unhealthy at best, but for the infamously reprehensible Draco Malfoy, it was the beginning of a new leaf. As he found one fault in himself, he was forced to eventually consider the possibility of another.

Presently, though, Draco was sitting in the Great Hall, quietly eating his dinner. The first few days back everyone had openly gawked at him. He had scared more than a few of the younger students as he scowled darkly, roughly shouldering his way through the crowds, trying to get to class. Had he ever been so insufferably small? With a shake of his head, he finally arrived at the last corridor, and slowed down a bit. A cluster of Gryffindors was partially blocking the doorway, and he eyed them coolly. Potter barely spared him a glance, but the Weasleys were practically growling at the bit.

As he sidled closer, no one moved, so he cleared his throat. Frowning at the oldest Weasley, who was the one mostly in the way, Draco raised a derogatory eyebrow, and as casually as possible asked, "Excuse me."

George's temper has been simmering for months and there are few people who could set him off more than a Death Eater who had, in his eyes, skated nonchalantly through the war unpunished. Not knowing who had cast the curse that caused Fred's death only encouraged George to blame everyone equally, if not fairly.

His eyes narrowed as he faced off with the blond headed nemesis. "You will never be excused, Ferret." George smiled at Draco's stiff expression. "Why don't you make me move, hmm?"

Hermione looked scandalized, and she pulled on George's arm, "Honestly, George! Let him pass."

Unfortunately, anger and vindication do not coexist with reason at all.

While Ron was not as resentful as his brother, there was enough bad blood between himself and Malfoy to cloud his better judgment. Discreetly, so no one would see, Ron pulled his wand out, somewhat eager to get a good hex in.

Harry put his hand on George's shoulder and began to tell him to take it easy, but George shook him off, stepping closer to Draco. Taking everyone by surprise, instead of drawing his wand, George drew his fist. The first impact was a shock, and the second one, even more so. The side of Draco's head rapped against the stone floor as he went down, and stars filled his eyes. Struggling, and trying to fight back in vain, the next thirty seconds passed by in slow motion for Draco. Seemingly from a distance he could hear shouting. He might have seen Potter and the other Weasley try to pull George off of him—but more likely, he was becoming delusional from the sharp blow to his temple.

Hermione had run to find a teacher, and she rounded the corner with Professors Huerta and Caulfield in tow. With the adults' help, George was pulled back, and immediately hauled off to the Headmistress's office by a tight-lipped Professor Caulfield.

Professor Huerta bent over Draco, and she turned to the students near her. "Someone please get Madam Pomfrey for me, rapido." As she turned back to face Draco, she reached and tried to still his hands. "Shh, don't move-"

Draco groaned, mumbling as intelligently as possible, "Mmphfine," and proceeded to try to stand up. He only made it to his knees, haplessly clutching his head. Without the support of the nearby Professor, he would have fallen over right then and there. Hermione stepped closer, and stooped down to help. Catching sight of something alarming, she turned to Professor Huerta with a soft cry, "Professor, his ear is bleeding heavily over here."

With a "Phmmoof." of indignation over Granger's statement regarding his ear, Draco blacked out, and it took both of them to catch him before he hit his head on the floor again. The hallway cleared of students as Madam Pomfrey arrived on the scene.

"Gracious me! What happened?"

Professor Huerta turned to the few students remaining close by and raised her eyebrow in question. "I would like a satisfactory explanation for that as well. It can wait, though. Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville, would you please go to the Headmistress's Office and wait for me there? Minerva is going to want a much more efficient explanation than George's, I am sure. I am going to help Pomfrey for now, and I will be there shortly."

When no one moved, but remained staring at Draco's pale face nervously, she shooed them with her hands and turned her back on them, blocking Draco from view. Pomfrey was waving her wand over his head, casting diagnostic spells, and shaking her head. "We had better not move him just yet. Phera, would you mind holding this just for a second?"

Hermione tore her eyes away, took her friends by the shoulders and said quietly. "Come on you guys. Let's go."

She had to pull on their arms for a few seconds, but they finally started walking, Neville bringing up the rear. Ron was barely moving, so Neville had to prod him along a bit. After a few minutes of silence he stopped altogether and leaned against the wall, looking ill.

"Um..." Ron began, unsure how to say what was on his mind. He groaned, "Bloody hell."

Harry nodded and inclined his head, "Let's just get this over with, all right? I hope that George doesn't get expelled, or anything but you have to admit..." Harry looked disturbed at what he had seen his friend do.

The four of them reluctantly continued on, Hermione looking especially pale. Soon after, the stone gargoyle found them in a tense silence. Eventually Ron shrugged and asked, "Does anyone know the password?" Harry frowned and addressed the gargoyle, "May we go up?" With a passive shrug the statue consented, nimbly (for marble) stepping out of the way.

Eyebrows rose and Harry smirked sparingly at them. "He's not quite his usual self yet. I heard Professor Flitwick grumbling about it yesterday before class." Ron guffawed and shook his head, "Of course you did. I don't remember anything of the sort but-"

Harry snorted, "Mercy skies! There's a shocker for ya." Ron made a face at Harry, and laughing, Harry tapped his ear, "He who has ears, let him hear." Turning red, Ron faced him with a frown, "What the blazes is that supposed to mean?"

Before he could reply, Neville stated quite seriously, "That you have selective hearing. Quite a bad case of it, I'm afraid. Are we going up, or what?" Ron looked offended but as everyone else headed up the winding staircase, he followed sulkily, tugging on his ear all the while.

Harry's residual smile fell as they entered the strained atmosphere. Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Caulfield, and George were spread out in opposite sides of the room. Each of their faces were red, and McGonagall was quite out of breath from her most recent thunderous lecture. George would not meet their eyes, but he was frowning darkly, his gaze blazing a hole in the floor, and his arms crossed tensely.

Uncomfortable, the four eyed each other apprehensively and jumped as one when McGonagall sharply excused George. "Please leave us, Mr. Weasley. You are, and I repeat, not off of the hook. Professor Caulfield, would you be so kind as to chaperone Mr. Weasley in the sitting room next door? I must contemplate the best course of discipline suited to such violence." Professor Caulfield nodded and waited patiently for George to stand. He did so without a glance at anyone, and followed the Professor out of the room.

As the door closed McGonagall turned to them with a steely gaze and gestured towards the armchairs with her hand, indicating silently for them all to have a seat. After everyone was seated the Headmistress remained silent, so they waited quietly. After a minute, she focused on them with a frown. "Forgive me. Pray tell, how is Mr. Malfoy faring?"

Hermione was the only one to speak up, and she did so very softly. "I'm worried, Headmistress. His temple was struck against the stone floor quite... forcefully." She bit her lip, "His ear was bleeding heavily, which makes me think that perhaps-"

McGonagall abruptly stood up, knocking over an inkstand. "Upon my word, that is perturbing. I had better see about Mr. Malfoy myself. Miss Granger, if you will accompany me to the Hospital Wing, perhaps after I make sure that he is going to make a complete recovery, you could enlighten me as to how this whole situation came about. Thank you all for coming. Just a quick word with Professor Caulfield and we can be off."

Headmistress McGonagall took quick steps towards the nearby door, and the boys turned towards Hermione questionably. "What is going on?" Ron asked, looking thoroughly confused. Hermione stood, and pretended to dust herself off, as she struggled for an answer. "Intracranial pressure." At their bewildered looks, she began pacing in front of the desk. "Bleeding out of the ears or nose after a head injury is a sign of head trauma much worse than that of a concussion. It's caused by internal bleeding around the brain, and in the muggle world, they, er, drill into your skull to release the pressure."

Three faces blanched, rearing back in almost perfect synchronization. Her shoulders drooped somewhat as she made another turn, and then sat back down. "It's... not good."

At that moment, McGonagall returned from the other room, looking harried. "Let's make haste, Miss Granger. Boys, please return to your classes immediately." Hermione stood awkwardly, and with a last glance at her friends, followed the Headmistress quickly towards the fireplace.

With a pinch of powder, enveloping dust, and a bright emerald flame, they were gone.


	2. Intuition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McGonagall visits Malfoy Manor and Hermione visits the Hospital Wing.

Disclaimer: The Atlantic Ocean would dry up before someone mistook me for JK Rowling.

Queasily stepping out of the fireplace, Hermione knew a moment of hesitation. What was she doing here, exactly? As concerned as she was for Malfoy's well-being, there was little question as to whether he would welcome her regard. Considering that he could hardly begrudge her presence while he was unconscious, she squared her shoulders determinedly, and resolutely remained at Headmistress McGonagall's side.

McGonagall rushed towards the bed, "How is he, Poppy?" Without looking up, Madame Pomfrey tutted, and continued to magically stitch Malfoy's head. "I released the pressure, and the swelling is going down considerably. Nasty blow to the head, I am afraid." She looked up, and met McGonagall's eyes, "The impact to his temple is my main concern now, but all in all, he should be fine. It's quite likely that he will suffer from headaches for several months, but he is already healing nicely, and there shouldn't be any permanent damage."

The Headmistress nodded sagely, and watched Malfoy's pale face a few moments before turning towards Hermione. "Miss Granger, I must ask you to please fill in the gaps for me. Quickly, though, if you do not mind. It will be no small task to inform his Mother of what has happened, and I should like to know all of the details possible."

Nodding, Hermione started shaking slightly as she informed her favorite teacher of George's rage, a tide of guilt tightening her esophagus as she tried to get the words out. With what she believed to be a spectacularly lame finish, she looked away, biting her lower lip.

McGonagall's color had risen as she absorbed every word, and after a pause, she bit out two words before striding back towards the fireplace. "I see."

Without hesitation, she stiffly pronounced "Malfoy Manor," and disappeared once more in a flash of emerald green. Closing her eyes briefly, Minerva McGonagall relaxed her facial muscles and prepared for what was sure to be a trying scene. Narcissa Malfoy was likely to be equal points distressed and hysterical, quite a bad equation for a Headmistress such as herself.

After fighting with the Wizengamot before and during the Malfoy's trial, Minerva felt doubly responsible for the promising Draco Malfoy. There was no denying that everyone deserved a second chance, and while his heart had never quite been in the right place, he was incredibly bright. To her amazement, in the past few weeks since classes have begun, young Mr. Malfoy had been the epitome of a model student—studious, well behaved, if a bit reserved. And alone, she thought sadly.

Opening her eyes, Minerva looked around the grand sitting room curiously, and dusted herself off. As she began walking around the antiquated but refined space, she began to mentally count to herself because, as sure as Dumbledore braided his beard, a house elf would be here shortly to welcome her. A few seconds later, three to be exact, a loud pop announced the expected arrival. Turning, Minerva gave the small creature a rather frugal attempt at a smile, and said, "Please inform your Mistress that I am here, and that I need to speak with her immediately."

The bobbing elf nodded once and disappeared promptly. When Narcissa did arrive a few minutes later, out of breath, Minerva noted with surprise that she was not alone.

"Andromeda?" Albeit shocked, she was not quite speechless. The witch in question settled the blond headed baby on her other hip and smiled in return. "Aye, Minerva. I hope all is well?" With a quick glance at her wilting sister, she spoke up once more. "What is going on?" Narcissa, with her hand at her throat, asked in a frantic surge of words, "Is something wrong? My Draco—"

Afraid that her eyebrows were still an unseemly height, Minerva hastened to school her features, and inclined her hand. "Perhaps we should all have a seat." After they were all seated with an untouched tea tray before them, she continued. "There has been an incident, I am sorry to say, but-" Her voice softened at Narcissa's distraught face. "Please do not worry, Draco is going to be all right."

Paling still further, Narcissa murmured under her breath the three words that hurt her heart. "Going to be..." and then met the Headmistress' eyes. "Which means that he isn't right now." Beautiful Teddy reached towards her, and she gladly accepted him into her arms. Slightly comforted by his chubby warmth, she continued in a stronger voice. "What happened?"

Minerva traced the pattern on her chair idly while answering. "Your son was attacked by another student. There was no duel, or any real chance to defend himself, I am afraid." With a look of indignant anger, she continued, telling the motionless ladies of the violence and the complications of Draco's head injury. When she had used up the last of her information, Minerva paused and waited for a response. The two sisters sat in stressful silence for a few minutes, and the only sound to be heard was Teddy's upbeat gurgling.

Minerva waited tensely for the outburst that was certain to be forthcoming, but she was surprised yet again. After an interminable suspension, Narcissa turned towards her sister and beseechingly asked, "Will you return with the Headmistress to Hogwarts when she goes? Please Dromeda? I cannot bear to think of him suffering, especially alone. You could take him a few items, and then tell me how he looks and feels." Her eyes seemed to double in size as she made her request, and they filled with tears as she mourned the fact that she could not go herself. Andromeda nodded with assurance, and met Minerva's gaze with a small smile.

Relaxing into her chair, Minerva began to explain that while he was going to make a full recovery, Draco would likely have headaches for many weeks, if not months. At his Mother's worried look, she tried to cheer her up by revealing how high Draco's marks have been so far, and for a moment, Narcissa's eyes lit up. "He told me before he left that he was going to trounce a girl in class if it killed him."

Minerva smiled. "He must have been referring to Hermione. Ah, yes, well they always do go head to head. I always thought—Oh, I don't know—" Minerva faltered, abashed by what she had been about to say. Narcissa's eyebrow rose daintily and she could not help a small secret smile. "That he might fancy her?" The three women chuckled together at the incredible idea, and sat back in their chairs, soothed by the warm company.

The topic of their conversation lingered in the Hospital Wing well after propriety demanded. Hermione could not help watching Malfoy curiously, and she pestered Pomfrey, repeatedly asking if he was really going to be all right. One has to mentally settle comfortably into Miss Granger's shoes here for an exhaustible length of time to really understand that until she saw cold gray eyes glaring at her, or perhaps an infuriatingly dignified expression on his face, he just wasn't okay.

Seeing how soft his newly healed face could look in slumber was as surreal as it was beautiful. Oops. Did she just think that? She meant unnatural. It was unnatural.

She would just stay until he snarled at her, and sure as that would make them both feel better, she could leave in peace. With a jolt, she turned towards the fireplace as the Headmistress appeared. Hermione scooted back and stood, then stared as Mrs. Tonks stepped out of the fireplace a few seconds later. Standing straight and blinking, she watched in a haze of confusion as the woman she could only think of as Remus' Mother-in-law rushed towards Malfoy's bedside. Belatedly, and feeling foolish, she realized that all things considered, she was his Aunt.

Out of place, Hermione went to go stand by the Headmistress as Mrs. Tonks smoothed Malfoy's hair back from his brow and calmly asked Madame Pomfrey how he was doing. For some unfathomable reason, Hermione's throat tightened, and she quickly made her goodbyes and left the room.

The next few minutes were passed peacefully in the Hospital Wing, but not nearly quiet enough for someone recently cursed with a blatant head injury. Magic remedies aside, Draco felt horrible. In fact, he was quite sure that he had never felt worse. His thoughts were in a slow garbled fog, and the more he thought, the more they hurt.

Arghhuhhngh. Merlin's.. jumper.. bottoms.. eating.. my.. face.. Malediction.. what.. is that bloody.. godforsaken noise? My head... Ugngh... My head...

He moaned, and swore to himself that he would never drink again.

Nice, Draco.

His groaning caught the attention of the three ladies talking in hushed voices nearby. As cool hands touched his forehead, he frowned in puzzlement. With considerable effort, Draco opened his heavy eyelids, and found his Aunt watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. He flinched, and reeled back when Madame Pomfrey started shining some abominable contraption in his eyes. "You will hold still, Mr. Malfoy, if you do not wish me to accidentally poke you in the eye. Hmph." She tweaked his nose, and tutted. "Open those devastating gray daggers, Son."

His eyes flew open as he spluttered, and Pomfrey smiled cheekily at his aghast expression. Cutting off his retort, his Aunt reached her hand down and hesitantly touched his hand. "How are you feeling, Draco?" Taken aback at the change in his Aunt, but comforted all the same, he leaned back against his pillow and eventually replied. "Where's the trolley?"

Baffled, and dare I say, amused, six gray eyebrows rose in unison. McGonagall softly asked, straining for a straight face, "What's that, Mr. Malfoy?" Frowning hurt, so Draco settled for a raddled sigh. "I swear, either I have been ran over by one, or I topped off a case of Ogden's all by myself."

All three women laughed, and his Aunt shook her head, still smiling. "Shocking! I daresay, you will be just fine. Just wait until I speak with your Mother." Her eyebrow rose threateningly, and Draco let out a small unrepentant smile. "I am well of age, as she is perfectly aware. I doubt she will be terribly surprised." Madame Pomfrey coughed once, and then added her own impertinence. "You are not suffering the old katzenjammer inebriation syndrome, Mr. Malfoy, though you'll wish that was the case before you are through. How much do you recall from this afternoon?"

Draco's face darkened as he remembered why he never made it to class. Weasel would pay.


	3. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny makes one helluva mistake.

Disclaimer: All hail the brilliant Rowling! I am but a lowly advocate, playing with her creations in my spare, albeit slightly pathetic, time.

 

Brisk cold wind whipped around the stone turrets. Occasionally, wind beat against the illuminated windows in a vain effort to acquire a sense of the unusual two-leggers enclosed within. As the curious element pounded against Gryffindor tower, a volatile two-legger could be seen repeatedly kicking his trunk until his face was as fiery red as his hair. Nodding a wise gust, wind tutted and declared that fire was simply too unpredictable, happily and conveniently forgetting its own impulsive nature. With a spontaneous blast, wind was gone.

With one last kick, and a sharp pain in his ribs, George's wind was gone as well. He sat down on the floor, pulled his knees up to his chest, and leaned his head forward, trying to catch his breath. As his breathing slowed, George frowned down at the carpet, silently berating all things pedantic—or academic. One unbearable old crone in particular.

McGonagall was impossible. Leave it to her to refuse to expel him, as a form of punishment. Bloody impertinent! In fact, it was downright cheeky.

Okay, so he had to admit that she had outsmarted him this time, but he would be victorious in the end. He would just have to do something so unconscionable, so outlandish, that she would have no choice but to expel him... Without tossing him in Azkaban, he added belatedly to himself.

Too bad about that. Ah, well.

No longer able to ignore the chill emanating from the floor, he slowly stood up and stretched. His body was stiff, and the cold had seeped into his bones, making him ache. Brashly dismissing McGonagall's stern admonishment to behave—or else, George headed towards the door, fully intent on revisiting a dear old passageway that leads directly into the cellar of Honeydukes.

Entering the Common Room, he immediately noticed a commotion near the nearby fireplace. The trio plus one furious sister of his were arguing with each other quite loudly, and George noted with raised eyebrows that Ginny and Harry both looked ireful and red in the face. Curious, George sidled closer to see what exactly was going on.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Harry asked, for the second time. His stomach was in a knot, and he was staring with stark unbelief at his girlfriend. "He didn't do anything. He was just standing there. There was absolutely no provocation—"

"No provocation? He's a bloody Death Eater! There's all the provocation anybody needs! Since when does that not give us justification to blast his pointy little head off?"

"She's got a point, Mate-" Ron added.

Harry exploded, "Since the war is OVER! I don't believe this. What the hell is wrong with you guys? This is the same line of prejudice that they used against muggles and half-bloods. I am so SICK of everyone judging everyone else!"

Hermione was nodding enthusiastically with this speech. Ron looked confused, but before they could reply, George slinked closer and folded his arms across his broad chest. "Am I to understand that you actually defending the ferret, Potter?"

They glanced at him in surprise, and Harry straightened his shoulders as he faced George. Ah, hell. In for a knut, in for a galleon. "Yes. Yes—I suppose, yes I am. You had no right—"

The atmosphere chilled considerably as George interrupted Harry. His voice was soft, but all the more dangerous for misleadingly soft tone. "No right? My brother is dead. As far as I am concerned, every last whoreson and arse bearing a dark mark is equally accountable. That includes the whimpering ferret!"

"That doesn't mean—you don't know… look, I am not Malfoy's biggest fan, obviously, I never have been. But for all of my dislike of him over the years, I know him pretty well. He didn't become a Death Eater for whatever sick reasons many of them joined up for. He was disillusioned, and yes, trying to protect his family. You don't know what Voldemort made him do. You don't—You can't just..."

Harry trailed off, and met Ginny's eye. She was staring at him, her gaze unreadable. Her expression hardened when Hermione took Harry's hand in a show of support.

George laughed derisively. "Ta! Now that The Chosen One has spoken so eloquently, I think I am ready to dust off my shoes and get the hell out of this place. Gin? Ron? You coming?"

Ginny nodded, but Ron didn't move. "I think I'll stay here."

"Of course you are, Ickle Fickle Ronniekins. Couldn't dream of breaking up the golden trio." With a disparaging nod, George saluted them and walked away, Ginny right on his heels.

Ginny exited the portrait hole without a backwards glance. Her stomach was burning with resentment as she called to mind how Harry and Hermione always team up together. How is it that Harry could completely disregard seven years of solid dislike, to—to defend that abhorrent suppuration? Has he had a recent head injury that she did not know about?

Disgruntled, and feeling more than a little reckless, Ginny walked quickly to keep up with George, who was practically sprinting down the hallway. "Wait up, Quacko!"

George smirked over his shoulder and obligingly slowed his steps. "Wotcher there, Ned."

Ginny narrowed her eyes, then laughed. "You haven't called me that in years." She couldn't help laughing again as she remembered some of the infamous misadventures the three of them had sought—and always found. Quacko, Wonko, and Ned, the terrible trio. The smile died on her face as a wave of hurt and grief stole over her. They were down to a terrible duo, and understandably, this was just not the same.

In a rare spirited moment for George these days, he turned to her, and poking her in the ribs with his wand, bellowed, "Have ye' any plunder, ye' troublesome maiden?"

Ginny's face lit up, it was wonderful to see George clowning around again. Then with a look of contempt, Ginny whipped out her wand so fast that the sleek maple stick was a blur. "Aye, ye' blasted skulldog, but ye' get nothin' from me. You be lookin' at One Eyed Sam, the most fearsome brigand ye' will ever have the dishonor-nay, the misfortune, to meet!"

Ginny growled convincingly, and George was screaming with laughter on the inside because he spotted a very flustered looking Flitwick a few paces behind Ginny, his eyebrows practically reaching the ceiling. Quite a feat for the little man, wouldn't you say?

"Alas, dear sister, perchance we should skedaddle along."

Ginny, with a confused look, happened a glance over her shoulder and stopped short. Immediately flushing, she curtsied to the silent Professor, and scurried off before any trouble could be found.

Professor Flitwick trembled with unleashed mirth, and shook his head in quiet amusement the whole trip to the Headmistress' office. He could scarcely wait to unveil the scene during the impending staff meeting.

Ginny was slightly mortified, but quickly recovered, and was soon laughing about the look on Professor Flitwick's face along with George. It was declared impossible for the little man to be any more surprised, and George happily congratulated her for such an accomplishment.

Soon, George began to quiet, and they began looking cautiously around corners as they neared the passageway that they sought to take into Hogsmeade. There was fun, too, in sneaking about, and Ginny had a satisfied smile on her face as they put silencing charms on their shoes, and kept a wary lookout for Peeves.

The statue of the one-eyed witch was met with no more mishaps. George tapped the stone replica of Gunhilda smartly on her hunched back, saying "Dissendium," and then smirked at Ginny. "Mind your bum."

George gracefully slid down the cold stone slide, and muttered "Lumos" into the darkness. Ginny eyed the descent coolly, and stashing her wand in her pocket, she quickly followed suit. George helped her up off of the dusty floor, and with a grin, she let George take the lead.

The argument with Harry was beginning to feel distant, and Ginny was determined not to feel a bit of guilt about any of it. Shaking off the residual anger and frustration with Harry, Ginny focused only on having a good time with her brother that she had sorely missed.

Ginny never was the sort to be afraid of the dark, or enclosed spaces, but it did feel as if the passage took forever, and she was quite glad to be on the other side of it at last. Emerging into the chocolate laden cellar, they dusted each other off, and Ginny laughingly swatted a large spider out of George's hair.

The two of them casually exited climbed the stairs, and walked nimbly through the moonlit shop. George expertly removed the locking charms from the door, and they exited the empty shop carefully, making sure that there were no witnesses. After George reapplied the locking charms from outside, he linked arms with Ginny and they strode merrily towards The Three Broomsticks.

As they entered the busy establishment, they had to weave in-between crowded tables, and eventually settled on sitting at the bar. Catching their eyes, Rosmerta knowingly smiled at George. He raised an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth, a witty smirk in return.

"All right, you two. I expect this one to schlep off, Miss Weasley, but I daresay, I expected more from you."

Ginny grinned at Rosmerta, and answered with every ounce of impertinence she possessed, "I remain the dearest of angelic creatures I assure you. Two firewhiskeys, if you please."

With a chuckle, Rosmerta turned to oblige, and as a few hours or more went by, the two of them had each drank a paltry amount, and were beginning to talk much louder than necessary. Nearby patrons eyed them curiously, and finally, Madame Rosmerta was forced to deny them any more alcohol.

"Would you two dears like something to eat? How about a nice platter, and some hot coffee?"

A little redder in the face than usual, George smiled at Rosmerta with eager warmth. "A fine offer! But, alas, I must deny. How about you let me take you out to dinner sometime, Rosmerta? Why, I could make your every whimsical dream come true. Just name the day! What say you?"

Internally weary of such mindless flirtations, Rosmerta took a breath, and answered dryly. "Oh, a fine offer, to be sure, but I must deny. Miss Weasley? Would you like something to eat?"

Ginny declined with thanks. George stood, and paying the expensive tab without a qualm, he set out of The Three Broomsticks at a fast, if not steady, quip. The two family members rambled around Hogsmeade for a time, and becoming drowsy, George turned into the Hogs Head for a few words with Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth.

They exchanged pleasantries with Aberforth, and though he regarded them in a stern manner, Aberforth never reprimanded them for bailing out of Hogwarts. Yawning, George ordered them both butterbeers, and they sat in a fairly secluded corner. The only nearby occupant was a young wizard a few years older than them, but as they had never seen him before, they paid him no mind.

George leaned his head against his hand and yawned, but Ginny was restless and wide-awake. She snorted in astonishment as George nodded off, and sat drumming her fingernails, and shaking her crossed leg. As George let out a snore, she shook her head and smiled, accidentally catching the eye of a nearby wizard.

He smiled warmly at her, and with a blush, Ginny pointedly looked away. Red hair was a curse. Why did she have to blush so easily? Now he was going to get the wrong idea.

Several minutes passed in silence. Just as Ginny was considering waking George up so that they could leave, the stranger finished his drink and stood up. With a determined step, he walked over to their table, and bowed slightly at the waist.

"I beg your pardon, Miss, but I don't believe I have had the pleasure? What, pray tell, is your name?"

Slightly taken aback by his forwardness, and strange accent, Ginny stared at him for a full ten seconds before answering reluctantly.

"Ah, Weasley! I have heard much of your family, many great things. May I?" He inclined his dark head towards the chair next to her, and as her audaciousness had only increased with each subsequent drink, she squared her shoulders and raised her hand, indicating for him to sit.

After taking a long sip of George's butterbeer, Ginny smiled at the wizard and asked, "And what, kind sir, is your name? And where are you from?"

"My name is Ioan Emlyn, but Owan to you please. I hail from Wales." He grinned at her, and began asking her all sorts of questions about herself. Ginny was beginning to feel light-headed, and a strange warm glow was spreading all throughout her body. As Owan leaned a little closer to her while he talked animatedly about his Healer training at St. Mungo's, Harry's face guiltily came to mind. Shaking away all feelings of guilt, which, to be honest, was much too easy with all of the firewhiskey in her system, Ginny leaned closer still.

They talked for several minutes before Owan asked if she would like to apparate with him to his flat, promising to feed her fish and chips. There was no denying that he had an easy charm, and she had very little restraint left. After a short pause, and half a glance at her snoring brother, Ginny nodded.

He followed her out of the door, and reaching for her hand, he apparated.

With a sick feeling of vertigo, Ginny clung to him until her head stopped spinning. Unfortunately, that took a little longer than expected, and when she let go he was smiling down at her with magnetic eyes.

Ginny took a nervous step back and for a minute she could not breathe. She walked around the room, seeing little, but pretending to be examining a collage of his pictures on the wall. He seemed to sense that she needed a little space for a minute, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Ginny could hear him rummaging in his icebox and setting out some dishes. Standing still, it was hard for her to believe that any of this was actually occurring. Was she responsible for something that could not be happening?

Before she could make up her mind about anything, Owan came back into the room bearing two steaming plates and a carefree smile. He magnanimously set them upon the coffee table, and bowed towards Ginny. "My fair lady, your dinner awaits."

Ginny sat with a happy sigh, and began eating. Owan dramatically gestured with his food as he was talking between bites, and Ginny laughed at much of what he had to say. Before her food was halfway gone, his hand had found her thigh, and Ginny surprised herself by encouraging him. She shifted a little closer, and set her plate down on the table.

It was getting hard to think straight, her body was warm and her mind was fuzzy. Owan was leaning towards her, her heart was pounding, and if she looked at him in this dim lighting, she could almost pretend that it was Harry whispering in her ear, kissing her first slowly, and then more insistently. It was Harry who straddled her on his lap, wasn't it? Not some stranger from a pub.

She felt slightly giddy, and something else - something beyond the boundary of recklessness. She imagined that it was Harry who claimed her virginity, but deep down, she knew. And she was heartbroken.


	4. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt... will eat you alive.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but take heart, dear readers, because I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.

Ginny rolled over and clutched her head. It felt like a giant was squeezing her temples together, and before she even knew what she was doing, she was vomiting on the floor. A low timbre voice broke through her clouded thoughts, and she first heard him mutter a soft "Evanesco", then a conjuring spell, and felt a cool cloth on her face.

Her mouth was so dry, but she managed to croak a few words. "Oh, gods, Harry. Last night?"

He chuckled, and helped her to stand up. "Who's Harry?"

Ginny froze, and looked up into the face of the man next to her with wide eyes. Suddenly, bits and pieces of the previous evening filtered back into her mind, and when she had connected them all, she gasped. Her knees gave out, and she almost sunk to the floor, but he held her fast.

He sounded concerned now, as he asked again. "Ginny? Who's Harry?"

She didn't answer. Her face was getting paler by the second, and Owan, always a good sport, helped her into the loo. She sat down shakily by the toilet, and pulled her knees up to her chest. Looking away from him, she quietly asked to be alone, and then promptly burst into tears.

Owan stood there uncomfortably for a minute, watching this girl fall apart. Guilt rose up, clogging his throat. Without the confident airs, it was quickly becoming apparent that she was young, much younger than he had thought. He mussed his hair with a sigh, backed out of the room, and quietly shut the door.

Owan stood there undecided for a time, and when the sobs quieted down somewhat, he walked into the kitchen to make some coffee and tea. He rifled in an overhead cabinet for a hangover potion, and dutifully set it on the luminous stainless steel counter.

Ginny leaned her head down and cried until she was out of breath, and then gasping for air, she felt nausea rising again. She flipped the seat open just in time, and threw up the rest of her scant dinner. Having nothing else, she started to dry heave, only to discover that this was somehow even worse. She felt like she was going to die, she couldn't breathe, and she couldn't seem to stop.

Owan heard her, and rushed into the bathroom with a bottle of water in one hand and the hangover potion in the other. He pulled her hair back and wet a few nearby towels. Calmly and quickly, Owan washed her face, and then held a fresh and cool washcloth to her forehead. Speaking in an efficient calming whisper, he cradled her face in his hands and tried to calm her down.

"Shhhh, Gin. Take it easy. Breathe through your nose. Go on. It's okay. You are going to be just fine. Breathe through your nose. That's it."

He continued to talk gently towards her until she calmed down and was breathing normally. She was still crying, but the tears fell silently, and she leaned her head back down on her bare knees. Owan sat back on one knee, and guiltily watched her shoulders shake quietly.

He cleared his throat to speak, "Ginny—" But he faltered, and after a minute he tried again. "Ginny, we don't know each other very well, and I am just as thickheaded as any bloke, but something is wrong. Could you do me this honor of telling me what it is? Have I done something? Did I… Did I hurt you?"

For a time, all Ginny could do was shake her head. Finally, she lifted her head and met his eyes. She swallowed, and wearily rubbed her face before answering. Her voice was scratchy, and he handed her the bottle of water silently.

"Thank you. You didn't do anything wrong, Owan. I don't know what I was thinking. I…" Ginny sighed, and looked away from his steady gaze. "I—You see, I would have never..." She put her head down and Owan could just barely make out what she said. "I have a boyfriend." She raised her head, and her eyes overflowed. "Harry." The name choked her on the way out, and Ginny shakily took a few sips from the sweating water bottle.

Owan nodded, he had been thinking that it could be something like that. He handed over the small bottle of hangover potion and gently squeezed her shoulder. Without another word, he stood and left, giving her some privacy.

Ginny stared at the potion for a minute, then uncorked it, and downed it in one gulp. Her headache immediately eased, and with a small sigh of relief she shakily got up off of the floor. Ginny stood over the vanity for a few minutes and looked at her reflection with a small start of surprise. She looked awful. Her freckles stood out in sharp relief from the white pallor of her face, and her eyes were horribly bloodshot. Her hair was unmentionable, to be honest, she could not even think about it. With a ragged sigh, she turned away and knelt to turn on his shower.

Undressing was really strange, her body felt as if it did not belong to her anymore. Like it had never belonged to her. Her body had betrayed her, and now, looking at it, she felt disconnected and disgusted. Shivering, she stepped into the shower and scrubbed ruthlessly for several minutes. Even though the water was steaming hot, she started shivering, and her body was beginning to ache like mad. Feeling weak in the knees, Ginny eventually sank down onto the floor of the bathtub and huddled under the hot spray.

A thousand memories of Harry attacked her mind, and she closed her eyes in the only defense that she had—but the darkness did not help. She had gone too far, and there was no help. How could she have been so ridiculous as to get herself into a situation such as this? Pushing guilt to the back of her mind before? Stupid! She had not known what guilt was! You can dance around remorse, but it will not be ignored.

Ginny tightened into a ball, still shivering, and cried out. What was she going to do?

 

At the Hog's Head, George had slumbered in peace for several hours. Nearing dawn, Aberforth repeatedly shook his shoulder until George began to wake up. George stretched like a cat, looked at Aberforth in surprise for a few seconds, and then grinned at him.

Aberforth rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Out with you, Weasley. I am fixing to open back up." He stared down at the table resignedly where George had slobbered and drooled everywhere. Merlin's knobblies, but he was getting too old for this.

With a jaw-cracking yawn, George slapped Aberforth on the back, and began to walk away. Suddenly stopping mid-step, he turned back to the old man questionably. "Where's Ginny at?"

Aberforth shook his head. "She's been gone for ages. I didn't happen to see her leave, but she knows where the portrait is as well as anybody. Probably didn't fancy trying to sleep here, especially with all your snoring."

George smiled fleetingly, and nodded. That sounded like Gin. "See you around, old man." With a cheeky wave, he strode off towards the portrait.

Aberforth turned his eyes towards the ceiling and shook his head. "Impudent little bugger."

George heard him, and smiled fleetingly on the inside. He couldn't agree more. After he made it to the Room of Requirement, he happily fell upon the convenient and plush bed, and into a coma. He felt like he could sleep until dinner, at least.

 

Harry had fallen asleep on a couch by the fire in the Common Room around three in the morning. He was anxious to talk to Ginny, and he had grown increasingly angry when she still had not returned.

He woke with a start when the sun began shining through the windows into his eyes. Blearily, Harry looked around and remembered. His heart sank when he realized that he must have missed her. Determining to talk to her as soon as she came down for breakfast, Harry sat up and yawned, preparing to wait. A few hours crept by slowly, and he had almost dozed off when the portrait hole opened. Upon seeing Ginny standing there awkwardly, he stood up quickly and walked over to her. She looked ill. His anger evaporated, and was forgotten. She wouldn't meet his eye, and Harry touched her hair gently. "Are you alright? Gin? Where have you been?"

Ginny trembled and stared at the floor as she lied. "I went to go see Madame Pomfrey. I don't… feel too good."

Harry nodded and took her hand, leading her over to a nearby couch. "Can I get you anything?"

Ginny shook her head and tucked herself under his arm, pulling her feet under her, onto the couch. She weakly closed her eyes and leaned into Harry, grateful to be near him. Harry felt how cold she was, and conjured a blanket. He charmed it to hold extra warmth, and settled it around her shoulders. Ginny sighed softly, and opened one eye when Harry began talking.

"About last night—"

Ginny shushed him. "I was… wrong." Tears welled up, and she took a deep breath. "Honestly, I think it is nice that you seem to have forgiven—" She choked on a sob for a second, and then continued. "Malfoy."

Harry stared at her and then with a smile, he settled her feet across his lap, and pulled her in closer to his side. She leaned her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes and immediately drifted off into an exhausted sleep.


	5. Rejection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione receives and writes a letter...  
> Draco and Ginny in class.

Disclaimer: My name is not J.K. Rowling. Satisfied?

 

Hermione sat in the Great Hall during breakfast, eating a few bites of her scrambled eggs when the owl post arrived. She glanced up in surprise when a large gray tawny owl landed with a flourish on her toast. The owl blinked and backed up off of her plate, then lifted its left leg towards her.

Hermione bit her lip, and took the proffered envelope. This was the school owl that she had used in her latest correspondence attempt to her parents. With a quavering hoot, the owl lifted up and set forth towards the window, likely in pursuit of a lengthy nap.

With unsteady hands, Hermione cradled the envelope in her lap. This is the first time that her own letter was not returned to her unopened.

Hermione stood, and met Ginny's curious gaze. The boys, as observant as ever, continued to dig into their breakfast without pause. Hermione opened and closed her mouth, and with a sigh, she turned and rushed out of the Great Hall. Turning quickly around every corner, she arrived to her first class with a good twenty minutes to spare. She absentmindedly sat in her chair at the front of the I.H. Workshop auditorium, and turned the envelope over and over.

Finally, she used her wand to open it and drew out the short note in her Father's distracted scrawl. Holding her breath, Hermione read it, clutching the paper tightly.

What right have you to keep plastering us with owls and unwanted letters? The last thing my wife or I need is a constant reminder of your pride and cunning duplicity. Stop writing immediately. There's nothing you can say that will change the way I feel.

I finished sitting shiva for you last week, and I have no further regrets. My daughter is dead.

Hermione gasped, and felt light-headed. Her Father had mourned and said the prayers of the dead over her? He was even more stubborn that she thought. The well of hopelessness that was so close to bubbling over within her these past months overflowed, and flooded her senses. Blindly, she stood, and clutching the letter, fled from the room.

She slammed into someone with a startled "Oomph" shortly after reaching the hallway, and stumbled. Strong hands caught her, and she stared up into gray eyes as surprised as her own. With a half-strangled sob, Hermione tore away in mortification, and hurried down the hall into the nearest bathroom. She closed the stall door with a shudder, and alternated between shaking silently with quiet sobs, and blowing her nose. How could her Mother let him do such a thing? With a worried, broken heart, Hermione wrapped her arms around her legs and hid her face, shaking occasionally with silent tears.

Draco stared after Granger's retreating figure with a flabbergasted frown, then walked into the auditorium and took his usual seat in the back. He had no idea what was going on with the Gryffindor Princess, and shaking his head slightly, he reminded himself that he did not really care. Pulling out his Arithmancy book, Advanced Numerology and Grammatica, he continued studying for the upcoming exam.

The minutes passed slowly, and Draco had to keep pushing thoughts of Granger out of his mind. With a sigh, he rubbed his forehead, which was starting to pound. Damn Weasley. Damn Granger.

Professor Caulfield walked in, and nodded at him with a restrained smile. Draco shut his textbook and shoved it back into his bag, swapping it for the annoying workbook for this class. It was filled with the boring utterances of his dunderheaded classmates, and he was quite keen to burn it at the end of the year.

Soon, above-mentioned classmates began filing into the auditorium in small groups. Annoyed with himself, Draco narrowed his eyes and watched for Granger to arrive in class, but she never did. Professor Caulfield began pairing everyone off, and as he called out for Draco to pair up with Granger, Draco raised his eyebrows at the Professor. "She's not here."

Professor Caulfield glanced at her bag sitting by her empty chair with a small frown, and after a pause, replied. "Well, alright. Pair up with Ginny Weasley for right now, and when she returns, the three of you can finish your assignment together.

Great. Now he could suffer through not one, but two Gryffindors. Lady Luck was most assuredly having a laugh at his expense today.

With a frown, Draco reluctantly complied, settling into the vacated chair next to the tall redhead. She turned to him with a soft sigh, and gazed at him without saying a word. He thought that she looked poorly; she was even paler than usual, and she looked tired; dark smudges stood out underneath her eyes.

"Ho, Weasley."

Her eyebrows rose slightly, and she looked down at her small desk. "Ho, Malfoy."

"Let's suffer through this in quelling spirits, shall we?"

Ginny shrugged in reply, and twirled her quill awkwardly.

Time crawled by, and Draco forced himself not to look at Granger's empty chair every few minutes. Instead, he focused on his workbook, and the unusually quiet Weasley seated next to him. Frowning down at today's worksheet, Draco rubbed his forehead again, and embarrassedly asked her the next question.

Oh, what we have to endure in the name of education.

"What is your favorite… physical attribute? …Ugh, pain in my arse. Where does he come up with these questions?"

Ginny shook her head, and couldn't help a half-hearted laugh. "I have no idea, on both counts. Just make something up."

Draco smirked and wrote down, "Freckles," knowing it was anything but true. Ginny rolled her eyes, and cleared her throat. "Well, I would ask, but I already know."

"You do?"

"Of course I do. Everyone knows that you are completely obsessed with your hair."

Draco grinned. "I cannot argue with that. It's definitely my best feature. Who can argue with perfection?"

Ginny tried not to roll her eyes, it felt like that is all she has been doing since class started. "Indeed." She yawned, and rubbed her eyes blearily. She had not been able to sleep very much lately, and whenever she did finally doze off, her dreams were vivid and strange. "The questions just get weirder and weirder. Oh-kay Malfoy, What would you name the autobiography of your life?"

Draco pursed his lips in thought, but was interrupted by an amused cry from Ron, who was sitting nearby. "How about The Life and Lies of the Ferret-Boy Wonder?" Ron laughed heartily at his own perceived brilliance.

Draco flushed and glared at the goofy grin on Ron Weasley's face. Ginny frowned, and after a minute, she rebuked her brother. "The only wonder is you, Ronald. You should have heard him screaming like a girl last night, because of a teensy spider crawling on his arm. He fell off of the couch." Ron gaped at his sister, and immediately clammed up. Zacharias Smith, his partner for today, snickered loudly, and dropped his quill.

Surprised, Draco shared an acknowledging glance with her, and exhaled his breath. "I'll have to think of mine for a minute. Do you have an idea for yours?"

Ginny nodded. "Sure. Um… How about, Why Redheads Have More Fun."

"Nice." Draco came up with a satisfactory answer. "I think I should call mine something like, The Highest Standard."

Draco read the next question uneasily. Today's worksheet was getting out of his comfort zone. "Bloody worksheet. I hate to ask this, but what do you do when you feel very sad, or depressed?"

Ginny didn't answer.

-

Hermione stayed in the girl's dormitory for the rest of the day. Twice, Ginny came to check on her between classes. The second time, Hermione felt more like talking. Ginny didn't say much, which wasn't really like her, but Hermione was thankful for her restraint.

Hermione sat up on the bed, and hugged her knees to her chest. She told Ginny about her trip to Australia after the war ended, and after a pause, she added, "I haven't told anyone, and please don't tell the boys, but my Father disowned me this summer."

Ginny's eyes widened, but otherwise didn't react.

Hermione sighed, and traced the embroidered pattern on the coverlet. "Have you ever done something so stupid, so… unpardonable, that you're not sure if things will ever right themselves again?"

Ginny stiffened, and didn't reply.

Hermione sighed, and wiped her eyes. "I don't know if he is ever going to forgive me. The letter I got at breakfast…"

Her throat clogged up, and Ginny gave her a hug. "I'll tell the guys that you are sick, okay? They have been worried about you."

Hermione nodded, and after her friend had left, she eased her head down onto the pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

A few hours later, she woke up and stretched, feeling weak and groggy. Hermione rolled out of bed, slightly ashamed at having spent the whole day in it, and determinedly headed towards the bathroom. What she needed was a steaming shower, a change of clothes, and a new perspective.

The shower did help, as they have a tendency to do, and as she stepped out of the humid bathroom, some of the fog weighing down her emotions lifted. Hermione rolled her neck experimentally, and stretched. As she crossed the room, her eye caught on the stark white paper of her Father's letter. Hermione paused, and without ever coming to a conscious decision, she walked over to her desk and sat down.

She chewed on the end of her quill for a few seconds before she began to write, as she organized her thoughts. But the words, once begun, spilled onto the page confidently.

Hermione left the letter unsigned. She folded and addressed it to her parents before she could change her mind.

The sun was beginning to set when Hermione made it to the Owlery, and with her breath caught in her throat, she watched the sunset until all light faded from the horizon. Afterwards, she petted a nearby owl absently, and then nervously, she brought her envelope to her lips and kissed it gently.

A few seconds later, the letter was attached to the owl, and soaring across the sky.


	6. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troubling memories.

Disclaimer: All of the characters you recognize belong to the phenomenal J.K. Rowling, not me. But then again, you already knew that.

 

Draco held his side as the stitch continued to escalate painfully. Breathing hard through his nose, he struggled to keep the shadowy figure several yards in front of him in sight. All of his senses were reeling, and he could tell that everything was about to be too much. Death is just too much.

"Wait – wait…" Draco gasped out, and he grabbed his knees, retching hopelessly into the tangled vegetation at his feet. He had always prided himself on his health and stamina, he was in great shape, but the horror of the Astronomy Tower, coupled with running for his very life had used him up, and wrung him out. He fell to one knee, trembling, and tried to catch his breath between the nausea.

Someone pulled him up roughly by the shoulders, and Draco stared wildly about, until he realized that it was just Snape. Snape shook him before setting him back on the ground and bit out three words violently before he began to drag him through the forest. "Get—it—together!"

Draco stumbled over and over, and finally wrenched his arm away in defiance. Not that Snape appeared to notice. He merely took longer strides and left Draco to follow through the brush. Draco wiped his brow and took one last look back. The castle was not visible, but he could see the towering flames licking at something in the distance. He closed his eyes, and wrestled with an unfamiliar feeling – remorse.

With a heavy sigh, he turned his back on Hogwarts, and all that it contained, and broke into a run in the direction that Snape had gone. The branches caught on his robes, his hands, and his face, but Draco barely noticed. Bright blue eyes swam before his vision, and a sickening green light.

Draco rolled over, and punched his pillow halfheartedly. He hated memories. They were just as bad as the nightmares. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes wearily. He was so blasted tired, but he could not sleep. Not without a dreamless sleep potion, and Poppy had officially cut him off. Bloody sanctimonious witches. Orders be damned, he would just brew his own. He crossed his arms with a satisfied smirk on his face, and then threw his covers off.

Merlin, it was stuffy in here. He could hear all of his dorm-mates snoring innocently, and as the sound reached a crescendo, Draco snorted. He stretched, and sat on the edge of his bed, searching for his slippers. He found his wand easily on his nightstand, and muttered "Lumos" quietly. By the gentle light of his wand, he could just see his shoes poking out of the edge of the other end of his bed, and without another word, Draco put them on and left the room.

Draco walked through the Common Room casually, and muttered "Nox" before exiting. No point in getting caught. His senses were on overdrive as he walked the corridors, listening for any Professors suffering from insomnia as well, but he came across no one. As Draco finally reached the Great Hall, he opened one of the huge doors with a surging feeling of relief. The cold air swept his hair back from his forehead, and even though it was uncomfortably nippy, Draco did not mind.

It was a nice change from his stifling bedchambers, and he drew in several deep breaths, savoring the crisp air. His feet fell into rhythm on the buoyant ground, and unconsciously took him to the edge of the Black Lake, not far from Dumbledore's white tomb. When Draco realized where he was, he felt like he was going to choke. He dropped to the ground with a raddled sigh, and scooted away from the white marble glinting, bloody twinkling, in the moonlight.

Dumbledore's death would not have affected him so much if that old man had not tried to help him. Why did he have to be kind? Kind to his appointed murderer. Draco pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes and roughly shook his head, trying to shake off the memory. In vain. That was him in a nutshell, wasn't it? In vain.

Of course, no matter what he did, he could never escape those blue eyes. Eyes that said he was neither without hope, nor without help. Crazy, foolish old man. Clearly off of his head. Snape had tried to explain to him about the curse Dumbledore was under, but the words did little more than get stuck buzzing around his ears as he glared at his old Head of House sullenly. And now, Snape was gone too.

Draco closed his eyes and slumped into the ground. His thoughts traveled to his parents, and he wondered how they were faring. He wondered most about his Father. A small, shriveled part of his mind could not help but to blame his Father for everything. Grimacing, Draco shoved the bitterness away and instead, tried not to think of anything at all. His fingers on his left hand sifted through the sand and dirt at his side, continuously, continuously, until finally, they slowed and stopped. The rich texture of the sand and the soothing sound of the water lapping against the shore pulled Draco into a soothing, dreamless slumber.

Hermione woke with a start and lay upon her bed gasping silently. With a shudder, she tried to untangle herself out of her blankets, but it was tricky. Somehow she had gotten them twisted all around her, and she was a sweaty, sticky mess. After a minute of wiggling and pulling, she began to get frustrated, and as luck would usually have it, that is when she landed on the floor with a loud "Oomph!"

She scrambled, and stood up indignantly, but as she grabbed her wand, she could not help a small chuckle. She kicked off the most stubborn of the sheets, and tiptoed into the bathroom. As the shower kicked on, Hermione rolled her neck and stretched. It was early, about four a.m., but she knew that she would never be able to go back to sleep. Not after nightmares about Bellatrix. Those were always the worst.

Hermione stayed in the shower longer than she had intended. The hot spray felt so nice and helped ease most of the tension between her shoulders and her neck. After nights filled with endless images of torture and despair, she always trembled and felt half-frozen for hours. The intense heat from the steaming water helped to fight off the involuntary tremors so she was reluctant to leave, but after an hour or so, she was getting waterlogged.

Hermione dried and dressed as quickly as possible. As she walked back into the sleeping quarters, she could not bear to crawl back into bed, so she carried her warmest comforter over to the largest window seat and settled in with a soft sigh.

After an hour of snuggling under the warm blanket, she began to feel considerably better andeven though the window was cold, Hermione leaned her face against the damp glass pane. The coolness against her face was just as comforting as the warmth from her blanket, and Hermione closed her eyes and let herself think about the two people that her mind had been avoiding for days.

Her parents. As she stared outside at the lightening dawn, the thick but breathtaking fog pulled her away from reality and drew her to the last memory of her parents. It had been a morning in Australia very much like this one, thick with miry fog and the air tense with an impending storm.

As she had walked down their small street, bordered on each side with flame trees, their bells just beginning to bloom, the hairs on Hermione's arms began to stand up. Chilled, and worried, she picked up her pace until she came upon the right cottage number.

The short, squat little house took her by surprise, and she could not help a small wistful smile at the drum shaped building's storybook appearance. She recognized the cob immediately; her parents had always planned on building a cob house eventually because they are so environmentally friendly and economically sound. Hermione bit her lip, and questioned herself before knocking on the heavy wooden door.

She missed her parents dreadfully, but it was apparent from the beautiful landscaping and small picturesque house that they were probably very happy here. She did not really want to disturb that.

Still, though. They deserved to know. Feeling sick with nerves, Hermione knocked on the door loudly three times before she could change her mind. There was barely time to catch her breath before her Mom opened the door. Hermione's heart lurched and her eyes pooled at the sight. Her Mom was standing there in her gardening clothes, her hair swept back away from her classic face. The really awful part, the thing that really broke Hermione's reservations from the inside out, was how much her Mom's face had lit up when she opened the door and saw her standing there.

"Mo—Mrs. Wilkins? May I speak with you? Is your husband home?"

She merely blinked before smiling warmly, and nodded. "Yes, of course. Come in. What is your name, dear?"

Hermione stuck her hand out, and tried to smile. "My name is Hermione, Hermione Granger."

Her Mom blinked a few times, and then clasped her hand over her heart. "What a lovely name. Why, I love Shakespeare, and A Winter's Tale is my favorite. I keep telling Wendell that when we—" Steps echoed across the floor in the next room, and she turned her head and smiled at her husband walking through the archway. "Wendell, this is Hermione. She needs to talk to us about something. Why don't you two sit here at the nook, and I will get us all some brunch. I don't know about you, dear, but I am famished. Fresh lemonade?" She had said all of this very fast, and ushered Hermione and her husband to the small table. They both sat, bemusedly, with matching looks of amusement on their faces.

Hermione met her Dad's eye, and he quirked his eyebrow at her, just like he always used to do. Unable to fight back her grin, Hermione raised hers in return, and they watched her Mom skip back and forth in the kitchen, shutting cabinets absentmindedly only to open them a minute later, and closing the fridge door a few times with her bottom because her hands were full.

The kitchen was unique, and in Hermione's opinion, wonderful. The cottage was cob on the inside as well, and the earthen influence was relaxing and distinctively rustic-chic. She had never thought of her parents as rustic before – ever – but the overall effect was very charming. When this house had been built, they had made the counters, sink, shelves, everything out of carved cob. Even the nook that they were sitting at was made of clay, and you could see that someone had engraved a wide whirling pattern on the edge of the tabletop. It was different from everything that she was used to, but she could not say that the change was unwelcome. The feeling that the room gave off was gentle and warm, very much like her Mom, and she took comfort from the terracotta glow.

"There!" Hermione's Mom sat a platter full of her favorite apple peanut butter crunchers, ants on a log, and small pieces of blueberry-granola cobbler in the middle of the table, before passing out three tall glasses of fresh strawberry lemonade, with raspberries floating amongst the ice. Hermione almost blurted out how much she had missed this. She wondered if her Mom might have unconsciously added mint to hers, because it had always been her favorite, but her Dad had never cared for mint. Hermione tipped her glass towards her, breathing in the crisp lemon scent, and there it was. Two mint leaves were swimming along next to the frozen raspberries, and Hermione almost cried.

Her parents were looking at her questionably, and Hermione took a sip of the delicious drink to stall for time. What was she going to say? She had thought about this ever since she decided to erase their memories and send them away out of harm, and she was no closer to the words she needed than she was then.

"Well… well, this is really complicated. Can you guys try to keep an open mind?" She looked at her now confused parents, and bit her lip. Hesitantly, she drew her wand out of her pocket and while her Dad's eyebrows squished together in puzzlement, she gently pointed it at the two of them seated next to each other and softly said, "Finite Incantatem."

Their eyes glazed over for a minute, and Hermione sat there quietly sipping her drink and waiting for her Dad's outburst with her eyes squeezed shut. He was a good man, strong willed, with indomitable values, but he possessed a very unforgiving pride. Her Mom was an unwavering and gentle soul; Hermione quite thought that she would understand.

A gasping sound brought Hermione's eyes back up to her parents. Ruth Granger had both of her hands pressed tightly to her mouth, so that the choking sound could not escape. But even so, Hermione could hear her Mom's heart breaking like it was reverberating around the room. The small tearless sobs tore her in half.

Thomas Granger's mouth was simply gaping, similar to a fish, as he processed all of his memories. Indignation was building in his chest, and bile rising in his throat as he stared at his daughter – his daughter! – And he could only form one coherent thought. How could she? How could she? How could she!

Hermione shrank back into her bench, hating the pain that she was forcing her parents to go through. But she had had no choice! She would just have to convince them of that. It had been for their own good. Meekly, in the back of her mind, she could not help comparing that awful statement to what Dumbledore had strived for, at one time, "for the greater good". Mentally shaking her head, Hermione squared her shoulders and addressed her parents.

"I—I know that you are going to be upset, but I promise that I only erased your memories of me, and changed your identities for your own protection. I never intended—"

Thomas stood up and pushed away from the table. His fists were shaking, and he could hardly see straight, he was so angry. "Get out."

Hermione flinched, but remained in her seat. When Thomas saw that she wasn't going to move, he slammed his fists down on the table. "Get out! GET OUT NOW!"

Hermione cringed backwards, and looked at her Mom, who was shaking her head, her hands still covering her mouth. Shakily, she stood up and opened her mouth to say something, but her Dad cut her off. "You and your presumptuous, careless intentions can get out of my house! I do not want to hear any excuses for what you have done."

Hermione blinked rapidly to dispel the forming tears that were clogging her throat. "But Dad—"

"But nothing!" Ruth put one of her hands on his arm, and he shook it away. "Don't say it Ruth!"

Ruth choked out a whisper, "Our daughter…"

He looked down at his shaking wife. "No, Ruth. What has she been to us since she started that damned school? Daughter scarcely merits the word!" He turned to Hermione with a steely glint in his eye. " We barely see you, and now you erase us, erase us from our very lives! Jehovah, what have I done, to deserve such a child?"

Hermione took a shaky step backwards, and tried to conceal her silent tears with her hands. Ruth pleadingly took her husbands hand, and pulled on it. "Honey, please—"

"No! Enough is enough!" He pointed his finger in Hermione's face, and said quietly, "You're too damned smart for your own good, aren't you? Well, I will be made a fool by you no longer! From this day forth, I have no daughter." His voice dripped with venom as he turned away. "Do you understand my meaning? Now get out!" Shaking his wife off of him, he stormed towards the small staircase and bellowed once more before he stomped upstairs. "Get out!"

Ruth Granger visibly winced at each thunderous word, and her heart felt shattered. She couldn't tear her eyes away from her only daughter, who was shaking and holding onto the counter for support.

Hermione's throat was clogged, and she felt dizzy with hurt, but she turned to her Mother who was still standing there, as if frozen. "Mum… I'm sorry. So sorry." The tears that she had been trying to hold back broke over her with loud convulsive gasps, and she leaned her head down on the counter.

Feeling somewhat guilty, for she had always been taught to trust and follow her husband in everything, Ruth took a few hesitant steps towards Hermione, and then enveloped her in a hug. A Mother's love is an unbreakable, unshakeable force, and she felt none of the anger at her daughter that her husband did. Her feelings were certainly hurt though, and she believed that Thomas' outburst was more in evidence of his hurt feelings, than his anger. Men were hopeless in that way.

She held Hermione until her sobs started to abate, then pulled away, and held up her daughter's face. "Oh, Hermione." She could hear Thomas stomping around upstairs, and sighed. "You had better go." She kissed Hermione's forehead, and gave her a weak smile. "I wish you would have trusted us, dear."

Hermione nodded with regret, and turned to go. Ruth saw her to the door, and watched as Hermione walked away, hugging herself tightly. As if on cue, the sky opened up, and keened sympathetically with the tiny witch trying to find her way.


	7. Skipping Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting by the lake.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns everything, and rightly so. The woman's a genius.

 

Ginny woke with a jolt, and lay in bed for a few minutes before attempting to climb out. As she began to sit up, her stomach started rolling painfully. Nimbly hopping out of bed, Ginny covered her mouth with her hand, and rushed towards the bathroom.

When the nausea finally receded into the background, Ginny covered her eyes with her hands and sat on the floor, trembling slightly. She had to tell Harry, she knew it; guilt of that night was making her sick. It was eating her up from the inside out.

But she couldn't do it. How could she? What in the world could she possibly say? There was absolutely nothing she could say that would make him stay with her afterwards, and so… Ginny said nothing.

She had never considered herself a coward before, and Ginny was very disappointed to find out that she was one after all.

When she felt like she could move again, Ginny carefully stood up, and walked over to the sink to brush her teeth, and wash her face. With a sigh at her appearance, she turned away from the snickering mirror, and changed for class. She could hear the other girls stirring now. Ginny grabbed her book-bag, and headed towards the Great Hall.

The Common Room was mostly empty, and Ginny did not meet many people in the hallways. The doors to the Great Hall were propped open, but only random scatterings of people were seated at the tables. More out of habit, than anything, Ginny walked to her spot at the Gryffindor table, and sat down. A plate full of her favorite breakfast, a large wild mushroom and watercress omelet, and crisp toast with honey on the side appeared and her eyes warmed at the special treat. Ginny ate a few bites, but her stomach started rolling as the rich food hit the empty walls. She let her fork drop to the table with an audible clink, and sighed, settling for her juice. After she had drained her goblet twice, she ate a few bites of her toast, and her stomach stopped complaining.

She pushed away from the table, and decided to go for a walk before class to clear her head. As she was headed towards the grounds, she met Luna in the Front Hall, and stopped to say hello. Ginny returned Luna's enthusiastic greeting, and tried to smile pleasantly. "Luna, you know the project that we are fixing to start in Potions? Would you like to be my partner?"

Luna's face glowed, "Of course I would! That would be lovely. I was kind of dreading it before, because I have never made an antidote before! Golpalott's Third Law is kind of—" Luna paused when her stomach growled loudly, and laughed. "Oh dear. I sound like I am starving to death. I cannot wait to work with you, Ginny! I will see you later!"

Luna skipped away, and Ginny's face lifted in a whisper of her usual smile as she walked out of the heavy double oak doors. A breeze was gently blowing, and Ginny could not help closing her eyes to savor the refreshing breath for a moment. She put her hand over her eyes, and looked around the grounds. The lake looked especially serene in the distance, and Ginny set her bag down on a step, and then walked towards the great body of water so fittingly named the Black Lake.

The grass was slightly damp, and Ginny unconsciously put her hand on the trunk of every tree that she passed. The hush of the air was soothing, and she exhaled slowly, relaxing the strained muscles in her back. Ginny was so busy watching a robin search for its breakfast that she reached the water much quicker than she expected, and came to an abrupt halt. The water was beautiful, and the shoreline peppered with smooth rocks beckoned her. Falling into an old habit from her childhood and summers spent at home with the boys, Ginny began skipping rocks. Only five skips? Well, she could do better than that. As she searched the shoreline for some really good skipping rocks, she found one that was truly ideal. It was about the size of her palm, thin, and an almost flawless circle.

Ginny was about to let it fly across the water, when she thought better of it, and slipped it into her pocket. The lake was especially placid this morning, with only a few migrating dragonflies disturbing the surface. She skipped a handful of average skipping stones for about ten minutes, getting up to eight skips on one. Eventually, her hands fell to her side, and Ginny turned to leave.

As she did, something pale in the distance caught her eye. Ginny squinted, and shaded her eyes with her hand to see more clearly. There was someone lying down on the wet grass towards the other side of the lake, near Dumbledore's marble tomb. As her eyes strained and scrutinized, Ginny began to recognize whom the lithe form must belong to.

She frowned, and turned back towards the castle, but after she had walked a few yards, she veered back around. Mum always complained that she was just as curious as any cat, and not near as careful. For now at least, it seemed to be true. She could not just walk away without finding out why Malfoy was lying outside. It was just too… out of character for him.

Ginny walked slowly towards his sprawled form, her eyebrows creasing as she neared him. She was close enough now to tell that he was indeed asleep, and snoring softly. It was strange how vulnerable he looked without that sneer permanently attached to his face. She had just decided to turn around and leave him alone when she accidentally snapped a twig underneath her foot.

Draco sprang up off of the ground faster than Ginny could have ever imagined. His wand was whipped out in the process, and he stared at her in surprise, his mind still foggy from sleep.

A little wary, Ginny raised her hands in an imploring gesture, and took a step back. After a few seconds of standoff, Draco raised one of his eyebrows at her, and slowly lowered his wand. "Weasley, what in the blazes do you think you are doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Ginny shrugged sheepishly, and turned to go. "Sorry, Malfoy, I just couldn't believe my eyes, that's all."

He did not reply, and Ginny looked back over her shoulder. She wanted to laugh out loud. "Malfoy, you've got grass in your hair."

Draco blanched, and scrubbed his head dramatically. He was still shaking his hair out when Ginny glanced back after collecting her book bag from the top of the steps. She shook her head and smiled subtly as she dawdled on her way to the auditorium for I.H. Workshop. She was going to be early, but she had to add a few inches to Professor Huerta's essay at some point before this afternoon anyway.

Draco, on the other hand, found nothing amusing about his hair. He could not help running his fingers through it carefully several times as he rushed through the halls, heading towards his dormitory for a quick shower before class. It was bloody workshop day, and he was not looking forward to it.

In the shower, he scrubbed his hair even more enthusiastically than usual, and was careful to use extra conditioner. Draco exhaled slowly as he washed his face, and by the time he was dressed and ready to go, he felt considerably more like himself. He did not bother tying his Slytherin tie; he merely left it hanging loose. As he headed out the door, he grabbed his bag in one hand, an apple in the other, and sprinted through the empty common room.

Caulfield was going to have his head on a pike, Merlin; he was going to be so late. He did not bother slowing down in the hall, and he reached the auditorium door a little out of breath, his shoes screeching to a halt. He glumly looked down at his watch and started. He had a minute to spare. Draco grinned smugly, and threw the door open.

He ignored the blatant stares as he strolled to his usual seat in the back, and settled in with a groan. He was sure that it was going to be a bad day. He had another counseling session with McGonagall tonight, and he was dreading it. The last one was just uncomfortable, bordering on anticlimactic.

Caulfield greeted the class in his usual annoying, enthusiastic manner, and Draco squirmed a few times in his seat. "Alright, class, today is your lucky day. This morning we are going to break up the monotony that is so evident by Friday, and I am thrilled to inform you that you will not be using your workbooks at all today."

When his announcement did not meet with the intended reaction, rather one of silence than the eagerness he had expected, Professor Caulfield laughed loudly. "Lighten up people. We are going to venture outside for a little game." One of his eyebrows lifted, and Draco sighed audibly. He had known it was too just too good to be true.

"You have all been getting to know each other, yes? And now, it is time for a test." Professor Caulfield grinned, and Draco cringed. "Now if you all will follow me out to the Quidditch Training Pitch, I will assign your partner there."

He walked to the door and waited patiently for everyone to assemble near the door, before speaking again. "You are not a group of First Years, let's try not to act like it, hmm?"

Draco rolled his eyes, and followed near the back of the line. Most of the students were in small knots, whispering to each other as they walked towards the rarely used small pitch, but Draco just slipped his hands into his pockets and walked by himself silently.

His eyes narrowed as he reached the expanding group of students, and he watched Professor Caulfield warily. He was quite certain that this was going to be worse than those insipid workbooks.

"Alright, class. I have set up various pretend mines throughout this pitch, marked with the red flags, and you and your partner are going to walk each other throughout the pitch. The speaker must keep an eye out not only for the mines, but other players, and must only guide with his or her voice. If contact is made with a flag or another person, including your partner, then you both lose ten points. The blind one must wear one of these charmed blindfolds, and you will not be able to see anything at all. Teams will be given eighty points at the beginning of the round, and this is a last man standing game. Once you and your partner are out of points, please watch from the sidelines quietly until the next round. You and your partner will switch positions on alternate rounds. Any questions?"

Granger, predictable as always, raised her hand. "Will we be graded on our results?"

Professor Caulfield smiled at her, and nodded slightly. "Not formally, but participation in weekly exercises such as this one will be a leaning factor on your individual overall grades at the end of the term. Say you need seven or eight points to go from an E to an O; cooperation and enthusiasm during these activities can make all of the difference. That works both ways, people. Anything else?"

No one else raised their hands, probably a bit taken aback, like Draco, that they were going to have to do "games" like this every week.

Professor Caulfield grinned. "Excellent. Alright, partners then." He pulled a small box out of his pocket with a flourish, and enlarged it. Draco tuned him out until he heard his name. "Ah, Draco Malfoy. Why don't you team up with Hermione Granger today since you were supposed to be partnered with her last time?"

Draco groaned audibly. Blast! He saw her look over at him from a few yards away with a slight frown on her face at his unflattering exclamation. Draco raised one eyebrow at her and folded his arms stubbornly. She remained where she was, so after a minute of cursing under his breath, Draco walked over to her.

"Granger. Charmed, I'm sure."

She glanced at him briefly, and then walked away, towards the emptying box of blindfolds. She waited for him to join her and held it out to him with what could only be described as a smirk on her face. "Suit up, Malfoy. You're blind first."

He held it out at arms length and wrinkled his nose. "You're daft, Granger. Everyone knows its ladies first."

She rolled her eyes, and grabbed the blindfold out of his hand. "Men are such babies. Alright then, Malfoy, lead the way."


End file.
